


Red Eye Blue

by IAmWhelmed



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Super Sons (Comics), Superman (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Bottom Damian Wayne, Childhood Friends, Damian Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Dubious Consent, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Angst, Red Kryptonite, Romance, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Top Jonathan Samuel Kent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:55:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26344468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmWhelmed/pseuds/IAmWhelmed
Summary: Damian and Jon have been best friends for... forever, and Damian has been tip-towing the line between Friend and Lover, too scared to take the leap-- because he and Jon are just friends, Jon doesn't see him that way, right? Superboy is exposed to some red kryptonite, and any doubts Damian had about how Jon feels are about to go out the window.
Relationships: Jonathan Kent/Damian Wayne
Comments: 16
Kudos: 294





	Red Eye Blue

He loved him. Of that Damian was sure. Jon Kent was his best friend, and as simple as he could see red leaves on a autumn day, he could see that he was falling hard and fast for him.

It’d been years since they’d become a team, they knew each other inside and out, like a family of two, and he knew Jon’s body the way a lover would, but only from glances in the medbay, only from years of tracing his body with his eyes like a paintbrush over the outline of a sketch. He loved him, loved him more than he ever thought himself capable. But they were friends, just friends, and that meant he had to control himself.

When they had sleepovers as preteens, when he first figured out that he wanted Jon the way a mother wanted a father, when he had to keep himself from reaching out just to touch the hair on his head and caress his beautiful face. He looked so peaceful at night, round nose scrunching at movement, so at peace at Damian’s side because they both knew they were safe together, truly. How badly he’d yearned when the moonlight caught his skin, when he could see every crease on his face, every soft bend, the definition growing at his chin as they both grew into men. He’d wanted to kiss him, but he kept to himself, because Jon and he… were just friends.

Not lovers. Not partners. Teammates, friends. Best friends. And he was fine with that, really. He didn’t need to touch him more than hugs and clasped hands and fist-bumps allowed. He just needed Jon at his side, laughing, smiling, shining like the sun, basking in the beacon that he was, of hope and love and peace. As they’d grown older, his hair had gotten longer, his smiles had gotten brighter, and his laugh still chimed like angels singing, especially when it was Robin who made him laugh, who made him double over with his arms around his stomach, begging for air. He was such a boy, even in his late teens, grinning wide, messing around, climbing fences and walking along the edges of tall bridges. He still played video games and roped Damian into playing with him, he still played in mud and got scared of horror movies despite being more powerful than any monster a human brain could hope to conjure. He was cute, and stupid, and happy, and so strong and good and  _ he loved him.  _ He loved him so much. More than himself, more than anyone.

He was alone in their Fortress, typing away at the computers, looking for connections to a case when he heard the entrance slide open with a metal sheath. He knew it was Jon, couldn’t hear him hovering over the ground, but he heard the flap of his ridiculous hoodie and cape. He’d been expecting him much earlier, perhaps as much as an hour ago. He’d almost begun to think he’d been stood up for patrol, which would have annoyed him, but he would have gotten on with it alone. “Superboy,” he greeted without looking up. “Nice of you to join me, finally.”

It was to his great surprise that there was a hand at the chair’s back, over his shoulder, and that it wheeled him around to face him at a neck-breaking speed. He yelped, eyes going wide as he came face-to-face with Superboy-- but this was  _ not _ Superboy. No, there was a dangerous, deadly look in his eyes that shook Damian to his core, the eyes of a god that was promising death to his people, for forsaking him, for betraying him. Those blue ocean eyes he’d come to love were full of red, and he almost flinched, expecting his heat vision to shoot about, right at his face, but that never came. Instead, Jon wrinkled his nose at him and grabbed him by the collar, lifting him from the computer chair and slamming him up against the nearest wall.

“Ah!” Damian winced as his back hit the cold metal of their fortress, writhing under the heat of Jon, under the bruising grip he had on his wrists. His eyes, they were so red, so unlike his usual blue, the kind he’d--  _ no, bad train of thought.  _ He couldn’t get lost, right now, not when the idiot he loved had him pinned to a wall, not when their chests were together and  _ god, he could feel him between his legs but that wasn’t Jon’s intention, he knew that _ . Red kryptonite. He knew it, he could see it, stuck to his arm like some fungi.  _ Luthor _ , he thought, Luthor was behind this. He needed to calm Jon down, get him sedated, call for his father, for Superman. He’d know how to save Jon, he had to. “Kent--” Jon grew closer, pushed up against him so that it almost hurt between his solid body and the wall, “-- _ Superboy!  _ This isn’t you! You have to snap out of it!”

“This isn’t me? D, c’mon.” Jon leaned down, and their noses brushed and he felt his hot breath on his lips and  _ no, he needed to focus _ . There was a smile on his face, not that one people sought comfort from, the one that lit up cities and inspired hope, or the one that was small and boyish and a little shy or snarky. No, this smile was… hungry. Like he knew exactly what he was doing to his Robin, like he was enjoying it. But that couldn’t have been, because he was giving Jon his best scowl, because if he knew what he was doing to him then he would have stopped. He was trying to intimidate him, maybe kill him, most certainly not… what he was really doing to him. “This is more me than I knew you could handle.”

He knew he’d upset Jon in the past, knew they’d had their issues, knew his best friend got angry at him, wanted to punch him-- often did. That sort of anger, he knew, was magnified tenfold when something alien like red kryptonite came into the equation.

_ Clark says he lost his inhibitions _ , he could hear Father telling him, like a memory from hindsight, like something he should have prepared for but never thought to because Jonathan was just so damn innocent and good.  _ He was dangerous. Animalistic. A danger to himself and others.  _ The memory came like a biting voice, a mocking tale of retrospect. He should have prepared for this. Why hadn’t he? “ _ Jon _ ,” he winced and grinded his teeth as his ribs began bruising under Jon’s weight. At this rate, he was going to find himself squashed between Superboy’s tolerant frame and the less tolerant wall. Where would that leave Jon, when he came to? To know that one bad day, one moment where he’d been exposed to red kryptonite, was all it took to have him kill his partner, his Robin, his friend. He thought they were friends. He wondered how much of this was the kryptonite, how much of this was the irritation Jon must have been holding back. Irritation because of him. He winced. “This is the red kryptonite talking. You,” he grinded his teeth to keep from yelling at the growing pressure. “You have to fight it!”

Jon’s haughty expression twisted and dipped into a frown, and it was so unsettling to see, because he wasn’t pouting like he did when his dad told him he couldn’t spend the night, and he wasn’t scowling like he did when they were on the battlefield and there were arms he was breaking to strangle himself free of the hold. He looked inconvenienced. He looked annoyed. He looked like he was three seconds away from “tt”ing at him. “Sorry, D, I’m done fighting this.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, mind running at a mile a minute because he had to figure something out, he couldn’t just let this be the end of the road for him. He couldn’t just--

His eye shot open as Jon latched to his neck, with his lips and not his hands, teeth against his skin, not at all gentle, but hungry, demanding, tongue lapping at his skin as it slipped painfully, deliciously, between his teeth. “Ah! Ah, Hayseed what are you--  _ ah _ !” He shut his eyes and turned his head away, tried to pull away just on instinct but Jon took his wrists and pinned them to the wall, stretched above his head. Jon’s head followed his, biting down hard enough to leave a mark as Damian writhed between him and the wall. He grimaced, tried to fight away the red hot heat he could feel at his cheeks, as hot as the mouth at his neck and the tongue that was licking him. “Jon, s-stop!”

But he knew, in his voice, there was no threat there. He could hear it, he knew Jon could hear it. Jon pressed into him at a different angle, and all of the sudden, he could  _ feel  _ him against his lower stomach, and that was on purpose. Jon’s hips rolled, and he bit back a cry and threw his head back against the wall. “Jon! Y-You--! Think about what you’re doing!”

Jon’s lips pulled from the notch of his neck with a wet pop, but then he was kissing the rest of the skin, making a trail on his way up to Damian’s ear, where he nibbled at the lobe and sucked at it, again rolling his hips. Damian swore. “I have. I’ve thought about this every night. Every time you were in my room. Every time we were here, alone.”  _ What?  _ Jon’s tongue circled the shell of his ear, dipping into the canal, and it made Damian squirm. It was so unclean, but the heat of his mouth right there, his tongue intruding him-- he nearly trembled. That felt so good.  _ No, _ no he had to focus. Jon wasn’t himself. He had to stop this. “I know exactly what I’m doing.” Jon breathed the words into his ear, and in the next moment, both of his wrists were pinned to the wall with only one of Jon’s hands, and the other was under the bend of his shoulder, palming his chest and his side. His thumb brushed one nipple, and even through the layers of his uniform, Damian hissed and bent into it, tried against his will to get him to touch him like that again. Jon smirked into his temple, he could feel it. “And I know what I’m going to do to you.”

He brushed his nipple again, more forcefully this time, and Damian bit down on his lips, tried to keep from responding to the electric shock than ran down his lower spine. Jon began rubbing circles into him, slow, steady, purposeful, then he pressed harder and moved faster, teeth at the skin behind his ear, hips rolling against him again, and again. He sighed into his neck. “I’m gonna make a mess of you, Damian.”

“ _ Jon! _ ” He bit down on his lip, squirmed as Jon rutted against him, no rhythm, no rhyme, and he tried not to roll with him but his hips were moving on their own, because he wanted Jon. He wanted him so bad. “ _ Jon, please… _ ” Please stop, he meant to say, but he couldn’t, couldn’t say it and sound like he was serious. He stilled himself, tried to pull away, but Jon took that hand that was toying with him and grabbed at his leg, just below his end, tugged at it with force, with no question, just demand, pulled it so that Damian sat higher on the wall, so that his leg was wrapped around Jon’s hips-- and their priviest places were flush together. Jon snapped his hips again, and this time, Damian threw his head back and cried out. “ _ Jon! _ ”

Jon  _ growled _ , into his ear, hands clenching against him so hard that he was already leaving bruises, and he hated how that felt  _ right _ . He pinned them both to the wall with his lower body, never once quieting the thunderous rolling of their hips. He was right there, pressing against his entrance, hitting him there with only clothes between them again, and  _ again _ . His hand snaked under his tunic, fingers dancing on his skin until they were at his nipple again, and this time he pinched it between his fingers and tugged. Damian threw his head back again, shutting his eyes, trying not to succumb to the pressure building in his stomach. “ _ Jon please, you-- ah! Hah, ah, please, please you have to-- _ ” he hung his head against Jon’s shoulder, just to regain his strength, even though that was seeming more and more impossible by the minute. “ _ Ah, ah, Superboy, y-you don’t want me. _ ” He gasped and shivered as Jon pinched harder, as he hit that entrance, came so close despite the barriers. “ _ Jon, stop this. It’s the kryptonite. _ ” Everything that escaped his lips was a breath, was a plea, and it was lost on Jon’s ears.

He squeezed his wrists so hard that he knew there’d be bruising there, too, dark, maybe blue. Blue like his eyes, blue like the mark Jon had been leaving on him for years already. “It’s the kryptonite?” Jon pulled away, and Damian lifted his head. The distance was small, only an inch between the two of them, but he could still feel Jon’s breath on his lips, and paired with the downturn of his lips, with the glare in his red, red eyes, this embrace felt just as consuming. He looked mad, the kind of mad Damian had been expecting when he first stormed into the cave and slammed him against a wall. The kind of mad that he’d thought the kryptonite would multiply tenfold. “Look at me, Damian, do you think it’s the kryptonite that did this to me?”

He swallowed, hard. “Yes.”

Jon snapped his hips, hit Damian hard right where he  _ desperately wanted him _ , made him whine as he shifted to lower himself onto Jon. “No, D, you did this to me. I’ve been holding back, because I knew I could hurt you, because I was terrified that you’d hate me, but that won’t happen, will it?” He leaned forward, lips brushing, open so he could taste Jon but only barely. Less of a kiss, more the promise of one. “Because you want me, don’t you?”

He shut his eyes and panted. “ _ Jon _ \--”

He kissed him, deep, chins tilted, one and then two and then breath on thick air, no teeth, no tongue, just passion and want, a point made. He gasped and Jon took the air and swallowed whatever he was going to say, because he couldn’t say anything else. Jon wanted him, that’s what this Jon said, and with his hand up his tunic and his shaft brushing the bridge of his ass, he was inclined to believe him. Jon set his forehead to his own, and it was already beading with sweat, and he sighed. “Because I want you, Dami.”

He wasn’t sure if Jon’s grip slackened on purpose, but he twisted his wrist and they broke free, free so he could wrap one arm over Jon’s neck and use the other to grasp at his hair. He dug his fingers into that raven blue-black hair, those soft strands that blew in the wind like a halo over his smiling face. He nuzzled Jon’s face, grimaced as he felt a blush from something other than the erotic things Jon was doing to him bloomed on his face. “I want you, farmboy, but only if you take this off.”

He reached down, ripped the kryptonite from his back, threw it across the room as best he could with how absolutely weak his arms felt. Jon drooped against him almost immediately, grunting, wincing. Damian smiled and allowed himself to nuzzle into that hair. “Welcome back, Hayseed.”

“Damian…?” Jon’s voice sounded tired, clouded, like he’d just woken up, like Damian had stripped the covers from his body and smacked him with a blaring alarm clock. He moaned and pulled away, blinking as his eyes readjusted. He could see the red swirling, disappearing like a portal, closing, spinning back into that blue he loved so, so much. More than he’d ever let Jon know. Those big blue, innocent eyes went wide when he saw the way Damian’s tunic was lifted, how his hand still tittered along the edge of his nipple. He retracted his hand like he’d been burned, face flaming red. And yet, Damian mused, he was just fine with the way his ankles were hooked above his ass. “Oh  _ my gosh _ , Damian! I’m so sorry, I--!”

“Superboy,” Jon’s wide, panicked eyes flitted up to his, terrified, a pale face under the red hot embarrassment. Damian raised a weak eyebrow at him. “Are you going to finish what you started?”

Jon blinked at him, eyes wide, surprised. “You… Wait… We…?”

Damian swallowed again, but this time he tried to hide it. “Yes… you were quite adamant about it.” He was hoping that nothing would change once that kryptonite came off, that the only difference would be the softness in Jon’s eyes, the gentleness in his hands (though the roughness was exhilarating). But now, he was starting to wonder if there was even an interest anymore. Perhaps the red kryptonite had multiplied impulses as he’d assumed, perhaps Jon had never wanted him to begin with, not like that. Maybe Red Kryptonite Jon would have taken anybody who struck his fancy. He turned his head away, and he waited for it. For the “I’m so sorry, this isn’t what I wanted”, or the “Damian, I really never would have”.

Jon blinked and looked down at their hips, the way Damian was still shamefully pressed up against him, the way he still struggled to keep himself from sliding down, against, atop, over Jon’s manhood, still tried not to pay attention to the way he pressed against his jeans. Shameful, how badly he wanted to be taken like a crying maiden. Jon’s cheeks lit aflame again, and he shifted to better hold Damian up, and he tried to bite back the moan as Jon readjusted, but he knew he could hear it. Jon’s hands tightened at his hips. “D… you were really gonna let me?”

“Don’t be ludicrous, I’m the one who ridded you of that kryptonite, didn’t I?”

Jon blinked, eyes narrowing at their joined hips, his hands at the v of his legs. “But you want me to…” Damian turned his head further away, until his cheek was pressed flat against the wall and he couldn’t turn any further away.

“Do what you’re going to do, Kent.” If he was going to drop him there, he needed to get it over with. He should have known. Thank everything that he stopped things before they went any further, Jon would have never forgiven--

Jon wrapped his arms around his back, pulled Damian into his chest and laid his head against his shoulder. He laughed, Jon  _ laughed _ . “A bed would have been more romantic, but I guess this is where we do it, huh?” He tore the pants open of his uniform, and Damian cried out indignantly until Jon snapped his hips again. Damian gasped. Jon was hooking his underwear over his thumbs, tugging it down, and down. He was digging his head into his shoulder, smiling into him, panting as Damian writhed against him. “I really like you, ya know.”

His hands moved up, grabbing him by the ass, squeezing. “ _ Ahh! _ ”

“Dami…” He pulled him into another kiss, distracting him from the finer that was making its way into him, into that place he’d so desperately wanted Jon all this time--

Jon pushed a finger into him, and it hurt but that was  _ so good,  _ and he sunk down onto it. “Ah,  _ Jon _ … you…”

“Dami, I really want you,” Jon buried his head into his neck, dug his face into his skin, panted as he pushed into Damian by the knuckle. “I really… I really love you.”

“I love you…” He hadn’t meant to say it, it was hardly a thought that crossed his mind, it just slipped, and maybe that was because he was riding Jon’s hand like a mech bull, trying not to fall off, trying to look cool even though he was falling apart as his finger curled inside of him and made him buck. It was the truth, and that meant he should have kept from saying it at all costs, but right then, his filter was gone. His sense of will was gone, it was just him, and Jon, and he wanted him to fill him up so bad that he was at the verge of tears, and he never cried.

Jon didn’t stiffen, didn’t pause, like he was unsurprised, like he’d expected it of him. And maybe a hopeless romantic like Jon did, with his shaft under blue jeans brushing him. Instead he kissed his shoulder. “I love you, too, Dami, I love you.” He pulled his finger out, then pushed it back in, ran it in a circle, hit every wall he could, brushed against his prostate.

Damian cried. “ _ Ah! J-Jon! _ ” Was he stuttering? Since when did he stutter? “ _ Jon! Ah, hah! Jon, haaah! _ ” Oh, he wanted him. He wanted him so bad, he wanted that finger replaced by Jon himself, wanted him to fill him more than he’d ever wanted anything else. He needed it, needed him, he’d always needed him. Jon huffed, panted like he was some sad human on a new jogging regimen. He hung his head and whined, eyes squeezing shut, focused, focused on feeling every inch of him with the bend of his fingers, focused on Damian as he struggled to keep himself together.

“Damian…” He slid his fingers out, only to roll them back in with more force. Damian bucked against his fingers, crying, squirming, hands digging at the skin of his neck, nails on the other hand scratching at his back. “You’re so warm, ah…” He kissed his neck, soft, light, apologetic for the bite marks and bruises he’d left earlier. “ _ Oh, Dami… _ ”

“Jon…” He winced. “Jon,  _ please, please… _ ” Begging wasn’t like him, wasn’t like him at all. He hated ever asking, but he needed Jon and he needed him right then, and if he had to get on his knees he would-- not that it looked like Jon was putting him down any time soon.

Jon took the hand that was set at his hips, the hand that Damian could say had left bruises of blue, grabbed his pants by the button and unlatched it. The waistband came undone, and in the next moment, his iconic blue jeans were bundled at his knees, just as bare as Robin, there for Damian to see as his fingers shifted out of him. He took a deep breath as they slipped and left him backing away from the edge he’d been desperately clamoring towards. It was lewd, so, so lewd, but Jon took the palm of his hand and licked it, lowering it until his hand was wrapped around his manhood, pressing his face again into the crook of his neck, peppering kisses at the vein.

Jon brushed himself against Damian’s entrance. His hair was thick with sweat, hung over his blue, blue eyes as they looked at each other. They were clouded over with desire, but there was so, so much love. It was suffocating in the best way possible. Ocean blue was nightsky blue, and he was looking at Damian like he was every star the eye could see. He smiled, small, warm, pressed his forehead to his and closed his eyes. “Dami… tell me if it hurts.” He pushed in, just the tip, slowly, took his ass in his hands and squeezed as he watched Damian sink down, and down, his back arching against the wall.

“ _ A-Ah! Ah, hah, ah, J-Jon! _ ” He tried to breath, dug his fingers into Jon’s shoulders and steadied himself as he filled him, but he was stretching him, and it felt so good, and he just wanted more. “ _ A-Ah, hah, hah, please… _ ” In and out, please, he wanted him to move, to make him ache, to feel him days after they’d done this. Jon seemed to have the same idea, brushed his nose against Damian’s ear and kissed the dip under it, then rolled his hips, pulled out, and pushed back in, watched as Damian squeezed around him. Damian writhed on him, wriggling down up and up to get him to move faster, but he had a feeling he was going to take his time. “ _ Ah, Jon! Ah, ah!” _ He tossed his head back, shutting his eyes, holding back tears as Jon filled him, hit him, moved at an agonisingly slow pace.

“ _ Damian! Oh, yes, Dami, just like that,” _ He squeezed at his ass, nails digging into the flesh, pulling him open as he dug into him, pulled out and rammed back in, less gentle than before.

“Ah!  _ Jon! _ ” Tears pooled in his eyes, and he hated it, but it wasn’t a reaction he had the presence of mind to control. “M-Move  _ faster _ !”

Jon pushed himself in further, and Damian could feel more and more filling him, disappearing inside of him, hitting him as far as he could take it. “ _ Ga-ah--! _ ” And sure, it hurt, but it hurt in the way his muscles did when he trained, in the way he loved. Jon snapped his hips out and in, and suddenly they were in motion, with a rhythm, like a pulse, in time with the way his heart screamed for Jon, harder the closer he got, like a beckoning beat. He grew closer and closer to the edge. Damian doubled over, locking his ankles around Jon’s hips, laying his head on his shoulder as Jon’s sat at his, panting, trying to catch his breath, gasping, whimpering as Jon hit his prostate. “ _ Jon! Jon! _ ” He grinded his teeth, biting back a sob as Jon rammed into him with kryptonian force, harder than any human man could hit him, break him, bend him to fit around him like a sheath. “Ah,  _ yes! Oh god, yes, Jon! _ ”

“ _ Oh… Oh Dami, oh Dami I love you. _ ”

His hand reached up, tangled into Jon’s sweat-wet hair and tugged like a lifeline. His nails were digging into his shoulder, even if they wouldn’t leave marks. That was fine, Jon had left enough all over his body, was making his mark inside of him. He was Jon’s in soul, in heart, and now in body. He belonged, and that was all he’d ever wanted. Jon was all he’d ever wanted. He curled Jon’s hair in his finger then tugged at it, pulling his neck up to bite at him. Jon turned his chin up in kind, moaned as Damian’s tongue slicked over his skin, as his teeth grazed him. “I love you,” Jon kissed his head, then pulled back his hips and slammed into Damian so hard that the wall cracked behind him. “ _ Yes, yes, Rao, yes! Damian! _ ”

He was close, so, so close, closer than he’d ever been. Jon drove him toward the edge, closer with each time he pounded into him. He trembled. “ _ Don’t stop, don’t stop, please… _ ”

If Jon heard him, he didn’t acknowledge a single word, but he also didn’t take a break at this neck-breaking pace. He hit him again, and again, harder, held him still against the wall and drove inside of him, slick, wet, hot skin on skin. “You’re so  _ warm _ , oh Rao,  _ that’s it, Dami. Let me feel you, that’s it. Right there, _ ” He hit him right at his prostate, no holding back, and Damian jolted and screamed, throwing his head back as Jon rode him out, claiming that spot his, again, and again, and again, and he was writhing against him, begging for more. “ _ Damian! _ ”

Jon had been closer than he thought. He came inside of him, filled him to the brim with white hot seed, and it spilled to the floor, dripping as Jon pulled out of him. Damian came the second after, falling limp against Jon as Jon fell against him, both of them stuck to the wall, panting, gathering themselves as they came down. Jon came to first, straightening out his back. He laughed under his breath as Damian clung to him. “Think you can stand?”

After what he’d just done to him? No, he probably wouldn’t be able to walk right for a week. He could feel the soreness inside of him already, and though it felt so,  _ so _ good to say that Jon had marked him like that, it was also a massive inconvenience. His nose twitched. “Of course.”

Jon gathered that it was a lie, probably, because instead of setting him down to the floor, he hoisted him up and hovered off the ground, cradling him to his chest, pressing a kiss to his head as he flew them back to the beds, and Damian wanted to tell him they had to go to the showers, but the feeling of still being filled…  _ was elevating _ . He was Jon’s, that’s exactly what this meant. Jon was still inside of him, would be until he cleaned himself, and it appeared Jon was in no hurry to wipe him of his mark. “The kryptonite--”

“You’ll take care of it later,” Jon smiled into his head. “Right now, I don’t feel like doing anything.” He emphasized this by lowering Damian onto one of the two beds present (not much use in having separate beds anymore, he supposed). Damian stripped himself of his cape, minding the scratches and bruises he could feel stinging all over his back. Jon had done a number on him, all right. He ditched the pants, kicked them off, discarded his hoodie and cape and threw them somewhere behind him, then joined Damian in the bed, pulling the covers over them. Damian let him pull him into his arms, entangle their legs. Here, in the quiet of their fortress, it was just the two of them. They could bask in this afterglow as long as they wanted, or as long as Damian could handle without feeling stupid and cheesy. Though, honestly, there was nothing cheesy at all about what they’d just done. In his experience, cheese wasn’t hardly as salty. Jon kissed his head, then stared down at him with an infuriatingly smug smile.

“What?” He bit.

“Nothing,” Jon’s grin grew wider, smugger. “You’re just really loud, you know that?” Damian smacked him futilely in the chest, and he cackled. “Sorry, sorry! Just…” His face softened, flattened and smooth like sugar dough. His ocean eyes were filled with love again, and his smile was just as sappy, such a stark contrast to the blaring, dangerous red they’d been when he first shoved Damian against a wall and took him like a brothel whore. His stomach (and something else) twitched at the thought. “In all the dreams I’ve had about making love to you, I never thought you’d be the more vocal of the two of us.”

Damian rolled his eyes and dug his head under his chin, not just to avoid that look in his eyes that incessantly mocked him, but to hide the heated scowl that was covering his face in bright red. “Funny, I always thought you’d be more verbal, yourself.” He supposed Jon had been, though.  _ I love you _ , he could hear Jon’s panting, desperate voice, perfectly clear in his mind’s ear. He’d whispered declarations of love and sweet nothings the whole time they’d been copulating, which was… exactly what he’d always imagined. Soft, gentle, happy Jon who did everything he did with compassion, with love. He meant it, Damian could tell, not just because Jon would never lie to him, but because even in his most animalistic, all he wanted was to show him just how deep that love went. So, so very Jon. “You are a god amongst men, Kent.”

Jon laughed, that happy, jovial chuckle that never failed to warm him. “You weren’t a bad lay yourself, Robin.”

“Like you have anything to compare it to.” He didn’t, right? He would have told him if he had, right?

Jon snorted. “D, please, I don’t need a comparison to say that I am very,” He wrapped his arms around Damian, tugged him into his chest, and dug his face back and forth frantically against the top of his head, “...  _ very _ satisfied.”

Jon didn’t know the half of it. Satisfying was feeling a Super pound into him at 80 bpm. Satisfying was hearing  _ that’s it, Dami, come for me _ when he was dying a million fantastical deaths in his arms. He smiled and kissed his shoulder. “Next time, I’ll have a countermeasure in place for Red Kryptonite.”

Jon sniffed, but he could tell it was a laugh. “Really? Because it looked to me like you were enjoying the effects.”

He was, and a Jon on red kryptonite was a monster who wanted to thoroughly ravish him, which was insanely erotic, but that was beside the point. “I was not. You are a danger to everyone around you, including yourself in such a state. I should have been more prepared.”

“Whatever you say, D.” His thumb ran circle at his cheekbone, dragging him up to place a chaste kiss at his lips. Damian leaned into it.

**Author's Note:**

> AAAAAAND I'M OFFICIALLY A DEGENERATE YAAAY!
> 
> I'm sure I made some mistakes, be they grammatical or practical or whatever, and I'll probably go back and fix 'em later, but for now I wanted to get this posted lol Tell me what you think! I'm definitely somebody who is all about love, so I really wanted to portray, despite the obvious lust, just how in love these two are. To me, that's the sexiest thing, being absolutely in love.
> 
> Hope this tides everyone over while I do some tweaking to the If I Can't Be Everything To You story outline!


End file.
